Perhaps the worst part was that when he saw me, when it became apparent that he had wrapped his mind around the fact that I was, indeed, standing in front of him, all he could say was that I wasn't supposed to be there. I didn't really belong anywhere any more. I made the decision to sell my father's house; I didn't belong there. I would sell it and take all the money I had been given in exchange for both my parents, and find some way to fit in somewhere. The first step to disappearing was forcing myself to go to my father's house.
I turned away from the woman in the mirror and forced myself to prepare to see the house that held memories of my father, and also of Asher.
An hour later, I checked out of my motel, had my one suitcase in my hand, and I was staring at the front door of my father's house. It was still early in the day, not yet noon, but I knew I had to go in because there was a lot to do. I put the key in the door, a key I hadn't used in years, and pushed the door open. I stood on the porch looking in, trying to decide if I was going to freak out or not.
The house was quiet and empty, the only light flooding in from the windows. My father never bothered with blinds or curtains, claiming that if the neighbors could see into his house at all times it forced him to keep it clean. And it always was. He had been one of those ‘A place for everything and everything in its place' kind of people, very organized. He was even organized in death apparently. I chastised myself for thinking something so insensitive and crass about my own father's death. I was still trying to deal with the fact that my father planned his death, planned everything about it, right down to having pre-ordered the flowers that he wanted at his memorial service. And yet, he couldn't call and tell me about it – wouldn't allow me to be there for him. Angrily, I walked into the house. When had I let other people start making decisions for me? When had I given up that control over myself?
I closed the door behind me and headed towards the laundry room. Everything I'd brought with me to Willow Falls was dirty and if I was going to go through with my plan to go it alone, I would at least need some clean clothes. Just as I plopped my suitcase up on the dryer, I heard that damned doorbell ring. I froze, knowing exactly who was ringing it, but hoping I was wrong – kind of. It went on and on forever, just like I remembered. I stood incredibly still, trying not to make a sound. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to melt away. I wanted to hide. It rang again and I rolled my eyes at his persistence. In reality I knew that Asher wouldn't stop until he got what he wanted, I was just afraid to find out what that was exactly. I waited for a minute or two after the doorbell ended its chiming, and I relaxed a little, feeling like I could breathe a little easier. I unzipped my suitcase and started sorting clothes into the washer when I heard the front door open.
"Charlie?" His voice floated through the house. "Charlie, I know you're here. I saw you go in."
My hand came up to cover my mouth. I didn't know if I was planning on screaming or crying, but the sound of his voice hurt and soothed me at the same time. I craved it; his voice was like a salve. But it was impossible for him to heal the wound he inflicted himself. Wasn't it? I heard footsteps and the door latching closed. He was coming to find me. I had a choice. I could confront him and be strong, or hide and let my lack of strength make another decision for me. I took a deep breath and swept my hair from behind my neck to the side, cascading down the front of my chest. I had been pretending for thirteen years that everything was fine; I could do that for another five minutes, surely. I took one last moment to make sure that my necklace was hidden beneath my shirt and then stepped into the kitchen.
We stood, for one eternal moment, in a darkened kitchen, and stared at each other.
He wasn't wearing the three-piece suit from the other day, but he still looked good – jeans and a sweater. The blue sweater made his gray eyes shine. His hands were in his pockets and he seemed to be waiting for me to say something.
"Hello, Asher," I managed. The words stung my throat. My body wanted to cry at the mention of his name. For so long I tried not to say his name, tried not to think of him, or picture his perfect face. In that moment, standing in my father's kitchen, everything I had been avoiding all those years was being thrust at me and I was drowning in the need to push it all away. I couldn't see his face without imagining how my baby might have looked with his freckles. Had either of my babies been a boy? Would he have looked like Asher? What would we have named him? Them? It was taking everything in me not to run out the door, get in my car, and drive away forever. There were days I was sure that in some other dimension Asher and I were happy with our 12-year-old twins. Perhaps a boy and a girl, they were happy and healthy. Asher and I were happily married. Everything worked out perfectly for us. It was a tough road at first, but our love got us through. I, however, was stuck in this reality where everything I had ever loved was taken from me.
"Charlie." He paused, looking like he wasn't entirely sure what he came here to say to me. "How are you?"
His question struck me as funny so I laughed, not a real laugh but an ‘I can't believe you just asked me that' laugh. "I'm great. You?" He ran his hand through his hair.
"I'm so sorry about your father, Charlie."
"What part are you sorry about? The part where he got sick? The part where he didn't tell me? The part where he died? Or the part where you knew all along and still kept it to yourself?"
"I understand why you're upset. But, Charlie, he didn't want me to tell anyone. As his lawyer, I couldn't."
"Did you want to?"
"Did I want to what?"
"Did you want to tell me? Did you try to convince him to call me and tell me?" I don't know why all of a sudden I had so much to say, but part of me wanted to figure out what happened that brought us both to this point.
"Until the very end, until it was clear he wasn't going to make it, we never discussed you. I never brought you up and neither did he."
"What do you mean by ‘until the end'? How long had you been in contact with him?" He looked down at the floor and my heart dropped. "Asher, answer the question."
"I've always been in contact with him, ever since you disappeared."
Well, fuck. That stung.
"I think you need to leave," I said as I turned from him, trying to go anywhere else in the house besides where he was.
"I think we need to talk about this," he said calmly. There was nothing calm about me, but I tried so hard to pull it off. I didn't want his pity or his sympathy. I continued to walk down the hall, headed for what once was my bedroom. I planned on avoiding this room, planned on staying away from a room that would bring back the worst and most vivid memories of being with Asher, but at this point I had nowhere else to go. "Don't you think you've hidden long enough?" His words were like ice down my spine. I froze. Indeed, I felt like hiding, but for the first time in years, all of a sudden, I felt more like fighting.
"How dare you come into my father's house and talk to me about hiding. I am not the one who ran the very second we hit a road block. I am not the one who left my girlfriend for weeks after finding out she was pregnant." I marched over to him with every word I spoke and I felt my face reddening with rage, a flush spreading up from my chest. When we were chest to chest, I pointed a finger right in his face. "You, of all people, do not get to judge me. I left because it was time to move on. My absence didn't hurt anyone." I turned again, set on disappearing, leaving him with those last words, hoping they hurt him even one tiny fraction of the amount of hurt I had acquired due to him.
"It hurt me," he said quietly, stopping me mid-stride. I knew, deep down in my soul, in the depth of my being, that I didn't owe him one damn thing. I should have kept walking, and I should have written him off years ago as the stupid boy in college who broke my heart, but the majority of my self, of the person I was, wouldn't deny him.
"I never got the chance to apologize to you," he continued. I heard him walking towards me and I knew he was getting closer. I just wasn't sure how close I'd allow him. "Please," he said, not two feet away from me. "Please let me talk to you. We can talk about what happened, talk about your father, talk about anything you want. I just want the opportunity to spend a little time with you."